Fanboy
by T.J. Lauren
Summary: He couldn't help but picture them laughing at the thought of some dorky teenager in glasses and comic book t-shirts, trying to talk to the cool kids. It turned out the same either way. Set pre-mid film


**Word Count:** 2038

**Warnings/Rating:** PG-13 for language, violence, sexual innuendo, and adult themes

**Disclaimer:** Fright Night and all characters therein © Tom Holland/Craig Gillespie

**Author's Note:** This was originally posted at the Frightnight2011 community on LiveJournal as a prompt fill, and looking at it now, I really should have waited to post it there. I was really sleep deprived and over stressed when I posted it, so now, after rereading it, fixing it up, it's about 700 words longer and a lot cleaner than the one I posted there. Oops.

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><p>Later on, he honestly won't give them a second thought. They are just two more fans, lurking at the edges of the huge swarm waiting after the show for photos and autographs. He has finally broken free from the horde and is about to escape upstairs when two gangly teens shove their way to the front of the group, reaching towards him, beseeching.<p>

"Mr. Vincent, wait! Please - "

"Hang on a sec, can we just - "

A beefy security guard steps between them and him, putting a massive hand against each of the boys' chests and pushing them backwards. He gives them a stern stare, towering over them. "Alright, let's not mob Mr. Vincent. I'm sure he's tired after his show."

Tired? Peter is fucking exhausted, and just a bit drunk to boot, courtesy of a small flask of brandy he keeps hidden in his dressing room for after the show and before the appearances for the fans. He also knows that upstairs there is bottle of Midori chilling in the fridge behind the bar, ready and waiting. Ginger is likely already upstairs as well, warm and willing and she'll be an absolute _beast _tonight, judging from the looks she was shooting him across stage all night.

He'll just make this quick.

He swings back around with a cocky grin and a swirl of leather, and swaggers over to the security guard and the two young fans. "It's fine, Jean," he says, clapping a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder. Then he pins his gaze on the teenagers, tipping his head back so that the hanging dark locks won't cover his tattoos so much. He gives them a half-lidded stare and an enigmatic smirk for good measure. "I'd be more than happy to talk to them."

The two boys seem to shrink back even more at his attention, both looking thoroughly intimidated. The taller one has a rabbity look to him, like he's ready to run at any moment. He glances sidelong at his friend, shifting in discomfort. The one with the glasses looks nervous as well, but he has a determined set to his jaw that make's Peter's smile broaden. "Anything for a fan," he purrs.

The spectacled teen steps a little closer. "Hi. Um. I'm Ed Lee. This is Adam."

"Hi," Adam squeaks, his eyes wide and dazed.

Peter shakes the twitchy boy's hand and gives him a shark's grin. "Hello," he says, his voice rolling rough and deep from the alcohol.

Then he turns to the other, more confident teen. He grips Ed's hand a bit longer than was probably appropriate, but hey, the kid's kinda cute. He's wearing those kind of thick lenses that magnify the eyes bigger than they should be. Peter's slightly drunk brain follows that thought with the idea that they might be magnifying the admiration shining there as well. Then he remembers that's fucking stupid, and besides, he's fucking Peter Vincent, and they're fan boys, so of course there's bound to be some appreciation there. He sways, tries to quirk an eyebrow (but he thinks it came out more of a wiggle), and asks "Did you want a photo?"

Ed frowns. "Actually we were hoping to talk with you about something… in private?"

Peter blinks slowly. "In private?" His mind jumps to dirty places, and he struggles not to leer too much.

"Yeah," Ed presses on, "It's kind of important. Something a man of your profession would be interested in." Aw, that's sweet. He's using big talk to try and impress him. Peter is willing to bet he's not even out of high school yet. Bless.

"Aw, I'd love to, boys, but I've got a… thing, upstairs, I'm running late for." He gives the young man a considering glance and, on a whim, pulls a slip of paper from thin air. The teen blinks and stares at the offered note. "Call me later though, and I'll see if I can arrange… something." he leers and winks at the teen and with a languid, coat-fluttering turn, he heads for the elevator.

"Dude, was he flirting with you?" he hears Adam say behind him. He grins, amused at the prospect that he's given them something to talk about for the next few weeks - never mind that the number is to a mobile he's been missing for three months now.

The elevator doors close.

That missing mobile… he supposes he really should replace the damn thing, but he hates dealing with cell phone companies and payment plans and all that. Maybe he could get Ginger to deal with it. She was really efficient at things like that.

She was efficient at other things too. Like orgasms. Orgasms would be good right now. Okay, so, orgasms first, then cell phone company. Then remind her to work on her timing for the Devil's Torture Chamber during rehearsals tomorrow. Bitch was coming out later every fucking time.

But first, orgasms. No, wait… Midori. Midori first, then orgasms.

Tonight was going to be a very good night.

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><p>Ed is utterly disappointed. He supposes it's silly to feel so hurt over being ignored by Peter Vincent. The man is a celebrity; he's used to being fawned over by strangers. Why would he pay any mind to Ed?<p>

He had thought, when Vincent had given him that look that was pure porn and conjured up a slip of paper with a phone number on it, that he had maybe seen something to interest him. The realization that Peter Vincent had been looking at him like that had sent thrills up his spine. No one _ever_ looked at him like that, and yeah, he was a dude, and yeah, Vincent was like, forty, or something, but come on! He was flirted with by _The Peter Vincent_ and how cool was that?

At the very least, he had hoped Vincent's apparent interest would help get his foot in the door; he and Adam were desperate for the renowned occultist's help. They are so out of their depth with this vampire. He wonders if Vincent had picked up on any of it, if he would have seen the signs. Surely he must have; just think of all the resources the man has at his fingertips, the reputation… and therefore, the power. Peter Vincent rules the occult subculture - there is probably nothing he doesn't know about.

But they couldn't be sure he knew, especially since the vampire was clearly going around wreaking havoc still. So Ed and Adam had tried to get word to Vincent. If they could help him, or he could help them… It doesn't really matter who kills the vamp in the end, as long as they could be sure that the monster would be taken care of before it got to them and their families.

So he had called, and called, and called again. But Vincent never picked up.

After a few days of fruitless phone calls going to straight to voicemail, he called one last time, and got one of those pre-recorded messages politely informing him that _"the number you are trying to call has been disconnected or is no longer available…"_

What the fuck was all that about?

And then Adam disappeared. From the moment they started tracking the vampire's movements around town, they had laid out certain times to call each other, just to check in, and make sure the other hadn't died. And one night, Adam didn't check in.

Ed made countless concerned calls to Adam's cell phone, his home phone, his parent's cell phones… none of the Johnsons were picking up. He even tried calling Adam's dad's work the next morning - he hadn't shown up.

Adam didn't show up at school that morning either.

Ed realized he was going to have to head over to the Johnson's house to see what was going on, so he decided, reluctantly, to call in some more trustworthy backup than some Vegas hack showman (even if said trustworthy backup had to be blackmailed into just showing up). He couldn't do this on his own, and if Adam had been taken…

But Charley blew him off too, and that hurt even worse. Because Charley, he had thought, was his friend. They been best friends for years, and he had hoped that still meant something to Charley. If he could just get him to listen, show him the undeniable proof that he and Adam had collected… But Charley wouldn't even pretend to humor him, and that _hurt_.

Then again, with the way Charley had been avoiding Ed since the end of Junior year, he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised about this betrayal either.

Thinking of them left a sour taste in his mouth, Vincent and Charley both. He couldn't help but picture them seeing his number pop up and turning their phones off. See them laughing at the thought of some dorky teenager in glasses and comic book t-shirts, trying to talk to the cool kids. It turned out the same either way. Fucking douche bags.

And then he found himself face to face with the vampire, and it - _he_ - promised an end to it all. Peter Vincent and Charley Brewster will learn to respect him, dammit. They will learn to fear him.

He is more than happy to volunteer to help Jerry get into Vincent's penthouse, especially since he heard that Charley is there as well. It is far too easy getting in. The slut who comes to answer the door, she is delicious. He can smell the sex on her, the sin and the stage, and he hadn't realized it would be this easy to cover her mouth to muffle her screams, and just tear into her throat. His first kill.

And now he is standing in front of them, more phenomenally powerful than they could ever hope to be.

Ed had thought, back in the pool, when Jerry was reaching out to him and promising him the world, that perhaps he could drag Charley along with him. Charley would be the first one he'd turn - they could both go down together, the way it was meant to be.

But now… now Charley stares at him with pain showing in his eyes, and Ed could just scream with the hypocrisy of it. How many times has he given Charley those same puppy eyes, begging for his old friend to come back and just listen, dammit. He knows right then and there that even if Charley did want to be turned along with him, Ed would refuse. He will refuse. Charley abandoned him - he doesn't deserve eternity, doesn't deserve the strength and power that came with the blood.

He decides he's going to drag this out as long as possible, him and Charley. Drag out that bitter rejection, the way Charley dragged it out for him.

Peter Vincent, on the other hand, is standing in his bathrobe and not much else, brandishing what looks like a very authentic crucifixion nail at him. Vampire senses are really something else; he can smell the eyeliner and alcohol and the clinging drug smoke from fifteen feet away, can feel the vibrations in the air from the man's frightened pulse and breathing. He looks at Vincent, eyes the bare flesh of his arms, his long legs, the lithe torso, and he can see every vein and capillary stark through the pale skin.

The magician's hands are barely steady and his eyes blazing with false bravado, and even though it's easy now to see how genuinely pathetic the self-proclaimed Master of Darkness really is, a part of Ed is jumping up and down squealing euphorically because he is being threatened by _The Peter Vincent_ and how cool is _that_?

Even if the man is a total pussy in real life.

Then Vincent finally cracks, and runs away screaming across the room, and Charley and his hoe-bitch girlfriend run in the other. It's an easy choice to pick who he's going after first. "Oh, no you don't," he says, downright gleeful, and impressed with himself and how evilly deranged he sounds, and he chases after Vincent.

Tonight was going to be a very good night.

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><p>The end<p>

You know, half the time, I forget Ed was even in the movie at all. And then someone will bring him up and I'm like, "Ed? Who? Oh, right! THAT Ed!" and then I feel guilty because he's the kind of character you're meant feel for. It's not that I dislike him, I just didn't find him nearly as memorable as the other main characters. Then again, I wasn't that interested in Charley at first either, but I've grown very fond of him. Hopefully writing this will make him stick better in my mind from now on.


End file.
